The man seemed to sense Kenneth's presence. He shielded his eyes and gazed up at the shutter behind which Kenneth stood. The man half smiled and then resumed the swishing. Kenneth turned from the window, donned a pair of cotton trousers and t-shirt, exchanged the slippers for a pair of canvas deck shoes and walked into the kitchen where he filled the kettle and switched it on. He took a small bottle of water from the 'fridge and went out into the garden. The man put down his machete. Wiping the hand that had held it down his grubby shorts he stretched it out in greeting.
'Good morning, Sir. I am Bekim.'
Kenneth paused for a moment before taking the hand to return the greeting. The man's English was only slightly accented, suggesting he had more than a smattering of the language. There wa
